


Love, Colonel Sanders

by dino_friends_personal_space



Category: I Love You Colonel Sanders! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dino_friends_personal_space/pseuds/dino_friends_personal_space
Summary: A spin-off fan fiction of the Official KFC game "I love you, Colonel Sanders! A finger lickin' good dating simulator" This story occurs after the game.
Kudos: 3





	Love, Colonel Sanders

The Kentucky fried legend worked up from a sweltering dream with more heat than a thousand friers. The whited bearded man sat upright on the couch he was sleeping on as he preferred it to the large bedroom which had a large painting hanging upon it. He checked his watch clasped onto his burly arm. He was going to be late for work. Kentucky Fried Chicken brand didn’t run itself. Shuffling into his kitchen, he made his way to the stove but he felt dread for it. It seemed like the food he had made, the perfectly fried biscuits and the fully breaded chicken along with the smooth perfectly churned pot of potatoes saturated in butter, had no appeal and made him sick to his stomach. He left for work. 

Pulling on the red apron, Colonel Sanders slid into the war zone-- the restaurant kitchen. He worked tirelessly serving food for the busy customers while his flirty coworkers talked in the back. Colonel Sanders sighed and looked back towards the mash-potatoes. He pitied his classmates from his 3 day culinary school, Miriam and...whatever their name was. They were making snowmen and palm trees out of the potatoes, fit with a gravy beach and sunglasses too. They giggled as he grabbed the mashed potatoes away from them--well, what he could salvage. 

“Hey Colonel!~” The nameless person giggled. Colonel Sanders rolled his eyes and turned around to face the girls. With the calm expression only a god can manage he mustered a quiet ‘yes’ as Miriam nudged him a playful way. 

“Why don’t cha come join the snow fun?!” Miriam questioned in a not-so-questioning way. He looked at their pitiful display, both of them arguing over whether to add biscuits or not. How did these two even pass culinary class? As soon as they started throwing snowballs of mash-potato around Colonel Sanders left. Luckly, the mashed potato mixture blended into his hair so all he had to do was go back and replace his signature red apron. Despite how annoying they were, at least they were honest in their acts and tried their best. Most importantly, they didn’t mess with the fucking chicken recipe he worked so hard to keep under secret. 

Colonel Sanders descended down to the basement of the building which was dimly lit by a singular lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in an italian fashion. The white and red checked tablecloths brought back memories from a long time. As he pondered on his prior culinary style, he rememoried a specifical memory and was jolted back into his original task -- getting a new apron. He treded to the back kitchen of the basement and opened the back closet. The door was hard to open and when Colonel Sanders finally pulled the door back using his brute strength gained from ripping chickens aparts with his bare hands he fell to the floor, clattering a nearby broomstick onto the ground with him. He re-leaned the broom against the wall and headed inside. He looked around in the storage closet, containing many spices, some which were a part of the secret mixture he based his chicken in before frying it to the crispy golden husk his customers have known and grown to love. The other spices were there to confuse those with the untrained eye to believe they were a part of the recipe. He crouched down and picked up one of the half empty spice jars on the ground. It was partly opened. Colonel Sanders realized something as he went to place it back on the shelf, the spot where the jar sat was crisp and clean without dust. Someone had been in here recently and could still be in here. He looked at the label--garlic. Quickly, he juh-yoniked the clean red apron off the hanger and shimmied into it. He grabbed a spare spatula off the shelf and ran out. He tripped on the broom that was discarded on the ground...The fall was quite a doozy even for the strength of the buff twunk but that was the least of his worries. 

Colonel Sanders looked up. His eyes widened to the point the white shown were almost as white as the white flesh that is revealed when the deep-fried chicken is ripped open. There was a monstrous atrocity with scaly pasta flesh which oozed oily cheese and meat sauce out of the joints in which the sporks connected. Colonel Sanders gagged at the italian-scented musk coming from the creature. Its peering eyes looked at him with great indiquenty. Colonel Sanders threw his spatula at the creature which caused it to splirt red sauce with conflicting flavors so the taste eventually became untasteable to the human tongue. Colonel Sanders grabbed the broom that was originally his worst downfalls and rolled to the other side of the small kitchen. He didn’t survive the war to die in his old place where he was nothing but a boy growing up on a dairy farm. He stood up, angling the broom towards the creature. The creature let out an ungodly screech and charged towards Colonel Sanders. It was fast but Colonel Sanders was stronger and was able to prevent the 25mph forces from overtaking him--but not for long. He used his buff arms to throw the creature back and provide himself enough leverage to jump up and purch himself on top of the fridge. The creature jumped at him and Colonel Sanders jumped from the fridge to the deep steel sink and then quickly slinked out of the side window where, ages ago, meals used to sit. However, Colonel Sanders was quickly stopped by the sound of the railing heading downwards to close up shop. To avoid being cut in half by the metal, he threw himself backwards and hit his back against the wooden cabinets, cracking one in half. With splinters in his arm, he wiped the blood from the mouth and looked towards the creature in fear and felt the suffocating stench fill his body. He had so many regrets, so many mistakes. He could hear his voice yelling at him, from the heavens but in his heavy heart he knew he was going straight to hell. He could already feel the warmth of the flames and the... cold splash of water on his face.  
“Colonel!!! Hello??” The unnamed worker yelled, banging a spoon against a pot. Miriam stood above the soaking wet Colonel with an empty pitch. 

“See! I told you it would work! My grandma used to wake me up in the kitchen when I fell asleep like this. It totally woke me up...aaaand destroyed my culinary creations! I can’t wait until that witch is dead! But anyways, Colonel’s back reporting to earth, tee hee~” Miriam spouted shaking the unnamed worker. The colonel was relieved to see them but he was embarrassed that they had to see him in this state. He wouldn’t let his guard down for anyone but under this circumstance he was. Colonel Sanders shot up and after pretending to dust off his sopping wet apron before crossing his arms and adopting a disapproving scowl on his face. 

“What are you two doing down here?” He asked, slightly annoyed and embarrassed. 

“What, you aren’t happy to see us?” the unknown worker pondered innocently, completely oblivious to the prior situation Colonel Sanders was in. “Actually, why are you down here? You look as spooked as the time you saw Borko eating a dog again. Lol. Nightmare?” 

“Let’s get back upstairs,” Colonel Sanders said, checking his watch. “It’s almost closing time”

“Sure thing boss!” Mirian said, giving him a salute while she poked her tongue out in a goofy manner as the two pattered upstairs.

Colonel Sanders took this time to clean himself up and contemplate the situation in which he was in. After turning on the water, he peered into his reflection. Was it really simply a dream? He decided not to think any longer and moved to travel upstairs. 

Having no help from the two incompitent workers, Colonel Sanders cleaned up shop. Despite that, they were passionate in their art of culinary and hardworking despite Mirian always giving portions too small to the customers and the unnamed worker having such an intense and obvious crush on him. Regardless, he locked up shop and rode his white horse home. When he got to his house, he hesitated to go inside. He sighed and entered. He would make some comfort food. Self-care, right? He put away his deep fryer and pulled out the necessary ingredients. Flour, egg, baking powder--to make the crust. The sauce was perhaps the hardest part to betray but it was necessary to even taste his work. He took the pizza out from the oven and set it on the counter. It looked great and it was crafted with such care and nostalgia but he had failed. It wasn’t true and it would never be true as long as he was like this. Suddenly, he heard the doorbell. He wasn’t expecting anyone this hour; he wasn’t expecting anyone, period. He opened the door to reveal the unnamed worker from his restaurant. 

“What are you doing here?” Colonel Sanders questions, narrowing his eyes.

“I was a bit worried about you from when we were in the restaurant! So I came to check up on you-- what are you cooking in there? It smells good!” they rambled. Colonel Sanders fruitlessly tried to narrow the door crack but eventually yielded with a sigh and let them in. 

“It looks different from the last time I was here! Did you renovate or something?” The employee asked, looking around “Wait, is that pizza? I thought you didn’t eat anything other than the stuff you serve at the restaurant?”

“I don’t” Colonel Sanders lied “I knew you were coming and figured you would want a variety of things to eat” 

“Oh, in that case” The employee started before shoving a slice of pizza into their mouth. “Ooh the flavors are very good and are almost as good as the super secret spice mix you got in the chicken. But, there’s something missing, like another spice that stops it from achieving true greatness!” 

Colonel Sanders coughed nervously. He felt like they were onto him. He felt that he had to tell them the truth but wondered what would become of his beloved KFC business. The employee had then finished their pizza slice and began to ponder at the pictures. 

“Now, that’s a different picture! Who’s that?” The unnamed employee pondered, picking up a small framed black and white photo of two men in suits besides each other. Colonel Sanders quickly snatched the image away before he realized what he did. He swifty placed it down with a forceful clack and turned away to hide his embarrassment. The employee looked at him curiously and with surprise since he had never been so unnaturally unsaying about a topic before. 

“Anyways, aren’t you gonna eat?” The employee asked, returning to the pizza on the counter and picking up a slice for themselves and holding one out for the Colonel. 

“No,” Colonel Sanders said with a glint of pride in his eyes “I don’t eat anything else than the glorious KFC brand with perfectly crusted and breaded chicken and the wonderful mashed potatoes” 

“Then why don’t cha make some for yourself?” The employee asked. Colonel Sanders blinked in surprise for a moment. Quickly he started getting out the supplies for the wonderful, golden crispy chicken. The smooth chicken breast and thighs were swifty coated in flour mixture and layed out in wondrous rows. Suddenly, Colonel Sanders gracefully mixed the spices salt, thyme, basil, oregano, celery salt, pepper, mustard, paprika, garlic salt, ginger, white pepper together in such an orchestral wonder nothing seemed out of place and all 11 spices were placed back on the shelf within seconds, perfectly hiding the spices used. It was made with such passion and resulted in a hefty sex appeal. Colonel Sanders, with his brandished muscles, hefted a large pot to the stove and started to boil the water inside. 

“Was that garlic I saw?” the employee questioned unsurly because Colonel Sanders’ godly speed was speed at too many fps for the average human eyes to see.  
“No” Colonel Sanders said with a deadpan expression and a smirk in his eyes. His recipe is never to be known, he had worked too hard on it. You could never tell if he was lying or not. He brushed his hands against his blood-red apron and cockly placed his hands on his hips. Colonel Sanders watched the water boil. The employee stayed silent, deep in thought. Like a cock, they suddenly stood upright and started spouting their critical thinking skills aloud.

“Wait...red, no garlic, secret backstory. Wait, you’re a--” The unnamed employee scattered backwards and suddenly started whistling “--Here boy!” 

“...What?” Colonel Sanders looked at them with confusion and concern. 

“You’re a werewolf! Here boy!” 

“No, I’m a vampire. But that’s besides the point--” 

“Oh, how did that happen?” 

“It’s a long story…” Colonel Sanders looked away and placed the chicken into the boiling water and turned to the employee. “It originally started when I worked on a small farm...”

Colonel Sanders sighed and looked lost in thought. The water started to over boil so he turned the flame down. The water continued boiling. Colonel Sanders stepped back as the water boiled over the pot. Suddenly, a large creature with a pale chicken in the center and peeling chicken breading which appeared to resemble a noodle like form crawled out of the pot. He had realized his mistake. It was water, not oil. He had been too focused on his past memories to note the difference detriment in liquids.  
“What-what is that?” The employee yelled, peeking out from behind Colonel Sanders. The creature approached them further as the Colonel grabbed a nearby spatula.  
“It’s a magic creature” Colonel exclaimed exasperated as the large creature started attacking by throwing soggy wads of almost pasta. “It’s made from mistakes in cooking. If you get to a high enough level as a chef and you make a mistake on a dish you used magic on you’ll create one of these creatures” 

“Magic? You use magic to make your chicken taste so good??” The employee shrieked as they ran for cover. “How-how is that even possible?”

“I’m a vampire!” Colonel Sanders shouted. “All chefs have magic but because of my state I can use it more. But as you can see this has consequences. I messed up by putting the breaded chicken in boiling water instead of ” 

“Huh, that’s probably why all the chicken comes out perfectly crusted. ‘Cause of the magic. But why isn’t the food monster nice like Borko and the other spork monsters? Is it ‘cause you’re a vampire?” The employee noted as Colonel Sanders fought off the monster “Can you make me a vampire?”

“What??” Colonel Sanders asked indicatively. “I don’t see why you would ever want that!” 

The monster, taking advantage of this moment of this expressed surprise, took its turn to swing at Colonel Sanders, knocking him off the counter and to the spot where the employee was hiding. 

“Trust me, you don’t want to be a vampire” Colonel Sanders grunted before springing to his feet and lunging at the monster. 

“Why wouldn’t I want to? There’s immortality and magic cooking powers” 

Colonel Sanders was knocked to the ground and was using his spatula as a block to prevent the monster from hitting him.

“Yeah, but there’s no more garlic bread!” Colonel Sanders snapped, losing his cool and sending the monster flying back. The employee, sitting on one of the chairs, looked at him surprised. Colonel Sanders turned away hastily, wiping his face with his buff forearm, before turning back to the monster that was charging at him and stopping it. Colonel Sanders was struggling to move the monster backwards. He wasn’t sure why because moments before he sent it flying into cabinets. He had barely used any of his power so why was it so hard now? Colonel Sanders suddenly felt dizzy but continued to fight on. 

“Why’s it smell like garlic? Is that one of the 11 special herbs you got in the chicken?” The employee asked again, hopping to their feet and hoping to trick Colonel Sanders into telling the truth “Did I guess it right? Did I?” 

Colonel Sanders dropped to his knees, feeling weak. Of course it was garlic. It was getting hard to breath and he jumped away, pulling his red apron to cover his mouth. It did little to help. Colonel Sanders continued to fight the monster off by slicing the long distance attacks using his spatula but alas, he finally fell and the monster trapped him in its noodle like tendrils. As he faded out, scent of garlic filling his head, he heard his name one last time….

“Colonel?” A voice called. The man looked up to see another buff man gently yet firmly holding a wet handkerchief against his forehead. It felt safe like the man was surrounded by comfort.

“Yeah?” Colonel Sanders, weakly. He sat up and looked around the small kitchen. It felt familiar and a pure epitome of American homestyle cooking. “What happened?”

“You passed out when you were trying to cook” The buff man said, helping Colonel Sanders up to a chair so he could see him better. “You were up all day and night, just slaving over the stove. I was worried about you”

“I don’t remember much,” Colonel Sanders said, exhausted. He looked towards the man as a cup of water was thrusted into his hands. “I feel kinda sick, Pete”

“It’s probably because you’ve been starving yourself off of human blood” Pete said, looking towards the Colonel with a concerned look on his face. Pete was his name. And his name is Colonel Sanders, a poor lawyer in the middle of the great depression, working as a chef. 

“Oh” Colonel Sanders said. “I guess I haven’t” 

After a long silence, Pete sat up and gave Colonel Sanders a clasp pat on the shoulder. He stood up and peered into the pot which Colonel Sanders was using to cook and tasted the substance.

“Garlic?” Pete asked with anger, disappointment and concern in his voice. “You know that hurts you, Sanders. Why would you even?”

“I’m trying to build an immunity to it. If I built an immunity to sunlight, I can probably build one for garlic! Then I can…” 

“Sanders…”

“I know.”

“You only need to work hard” 

“Bullshit!” Colonel Sanders shouted, slamming his fist against the table. Pete stepped forwards in concern. “I’ll never get as good as I did with italian food! I’ll never make a better fried chicken than you, Pete” 

The two buff men sat in silence. Colonel Sanders looked away in shame despite the light being turned down so dim you could barely see the outline of the other. Pete, sighing, flicked on the oil lamp and moved closer to Colonel Sanders. Pete gently caressed Colonel Sander’s cheek and moved the Colonels face to face him.  
“Sanders, I’ll share the recipe with you” Pete said, softly and slowly. Colonel Sanders looked deeply in Pete’s eyes and retracted when he realized what Pete had proposed. Pete continued. “We’ll be business partners. And, after we get out of this shell, we’ll make our own business together. And after our business takes off, we’ll share it with the world and it will become a staple in every American house.”

“No way. But that’s your recipe.” Colonel Sanders said in total disbelief. “Will you really? And then we can get out of this shell together?”

“Yes. I-” Pete hesitated, the words on his tongue. “I care about you” 

There was a comfortable silence. Both knew what it meant both knew they could never be together. Pete extinguished the light and pulled Colonel Sanders close, whispering the secret 11 spices in which had found to result in the most perfect golden fried chicken found only through years of hard work. Not too long after, Colonel stood in the same place, now a hollow shell, void of feeling, licking the splattered human blood off his pistol. He had asked to remain alone with the shell of his friend, now with a bullet wound shot clean through his heart. The other business man had started the shoot out and Colonel Sanders ended it, placing all blame on the competitor for the death of his friend which locked them away and arising with the recipe of the most perfect, crunchy, golden chicken and no competitors. He looked down cast towards the body, crumpled on the ground. 

“I’m sorry Pete. The competition was too much. I just couldn’t. I had a plan, it was for us.” Colonel Sanders said, looking away from the body. Eventually, he turned towards the body and sat awkwardly next to the empty shell with the gun still in hand. “I was gonna lose you later anyways. I lost everyone else so soon. I-” Colonel Sanders stopped, feeling himself becoming emotional. He stood up and shoved the gun in the pocket of his apron. It was cold against his chest. “Anyways, I thank you for your hard work to get the recipe…Pete Morris., I’ll be taking it from here and no one will find out what the spices are” 

...Colonel Sanders finally awoke, a dull beating in his head. He slowly sat up but then shot up when he heard a shuffle behind him. 

“Hey, Colonel, look what I found!” The employee shouted geelyfully, holding a uniform. They tossed it towards the surprised man and he caught it. A paper flew out of one of the pockets. 

“Wow, this is…” The Colonel trailed off. It was his old uniform from his time in the war. The unnamed employee picked up the paper and saw that it was the photo.

“Hey that’s you isn’t it?” They questioned, squinting at it “What flag is that? Britain? I can’t tell its black and white” 

“It’s American” the Colonel murmured quietly, examining the people in the photo. “We were all so young...too young” 

“What happened?”

“Well, it was a long time ago…” Colonel Sanders paused and frowned. “It’s not something I like to remember. Besides, I was only a young soldier then...” 

“Oh” The employee said, patting Colonel Sanders' arm in an understanding way and changing the topic. “Hey, you were out for a while, why did you pass out?”

“Oh, vampires develop a sensitivity to garlic” Colonel Sanders explained nonchalantly “In the lungs of a vampire, the garlic clumps to the lungs and ends up suffocating us…”  
They nodded in understanding and sat quietly for a bit. 

“What, uh, what happened when I was out?” Colonel Sanders questioned softly. The employee explained:  
“Well, after you went out, I tried yelling at you to wake you up. Then, the food monster started coming at me so I hit it with one of the pots and it sorta stopped. Then I turned on the sink spray and used it as a water gun to get it to stop. That seemed to make its pasta noodle arms fall apart so I dumped that giant pot of boiling water over its head and it just crumpled apart into a singular soggy chicken breast. Then I tried to wake you up but you didn’t so I poured water on you too but it didn’t work. But it did get you breathing better again. Anyways, so then I dragged you to the couch and turned on the fire. Then I-”

“That’s quite enough,” Colonel Sanders said. “I thank you for ending that culinary disaster. It must have been hard to defeat since you are such a novice chef”

“Mm-hmm” The employee nodded, a smile forming. “Now how did ya become a vampire in the first place?”

“Well, I suppose I’ll tell you” Colonel Sanders said with a sigh “I lived on a small farm where I developed my expertise with food, specifically italian. Eventually, I was attacked by a vampire who thought I was cooking so well he should punish me by cursing me to never make it again. With nothing, not even my skilled cooking, I joined the army.”

“Who’s the guy in the photo next to you?” the employee asked, pointing to the man who was almost buffer than Colonel Sanders himself. 

“My friend, Pete. He was always the hardest worker. He helped me through my lowest point in life--where I lost my law degree for punching a son-of-a-bitch in court”

“Did he help you make your business?” 

“...Yes” Colonel Sanders said, with a bit of bashfulness in his voice. “I only make the best fried chicken ever now” 

The employee looked at him, now growing bored due to a short attention span millennials often have. Yet Colonel Sanders still continued on with his voicing of expressions:

“I’ll have to work harder. There’s no way to bring back all my past mistakes but I will grow as a person--as a vampire. I will use my magic and high-level chef skills to spread the true message of true American dining. You must do all you can and do it the best you can. It's the only way you ever get that feeling of accomplishing something. I was so hung up on what I had lost that I forgot why I love cooking in the first place. I need to spread true homestyle american food across the world. I must continue to add more american classic meals to my recipe in addition to my already american homestyle perfectly fried, golden chicken. I’ll show my true powers and I’ll spread the joy of real old-time country and farm cooking. I’ll have to add omelets, pancakes, casseroles, pies, and so much more. To the world, I will show the true meaning and feeling of Americia, build off of shame, corruption and murder but making something of itself, hopefully for the better.” 

With those last words said, Colonel Sanders ran out of his house and towards his white horse and off into the sunset with a plan in his mind to make the world a better place. He headed off to the restaurant and put together so many homestyle american dishes that it would represent the true ideals of the land he grew in and loved. He ended up writing a cookbook with all his recipes intact and ended it with the words: Love, Colonel Sanders.


End file.
